


Catching Up

by inspiredissue



Category: Spies Are Forever
Genre: Gay, M/M, kinda awkward, they baby
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-06-01
Updated: 2020-06-01
Packaged: 2021-03-02 19:48:40
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 1,531
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24482317
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/inspiredissue/pseuds/inspiredissue
Summary: It’s been two years since they spoke. Curt is tired of it, so he asks to meet up.
Relationships: Curt Mega/Owen Carvour
Kudos: 36





	1. Chapter 1

From his place on the shitty hotel bed, Curt stares at the popcorn ceiling and counts the bumps as he waits for nightfall. Taking the mission had almost been too much. The last time he was in Berlin, he was with… no. He promised himself that he would stop thinking about him because thoughts bring back memories and memories bring back tears and tears have no business in Curt’s life anymore. He needed to move on, just like Cynthia and Tati had told him. There had been no call, no letter, nothing to signify that Owen wanted anything to do with the American. Curt told himself it was just an accident, that maybe Owen was just too busy to send a letter. But it’s been two years and it gets difficult to believe someone is ‘too busy’ after that long. Especially Owen, the guy who always made time for things he felt important.  
Curt just wasn’t important to him anymore.  
The realization hit and hurt Curt worse than a bullet, making him blink and inhale shakily. How he hadn’t realized this before, he had no idea. Maybe it was the setting. After all, this was the same hotel they had stayed at. The same hotel where they kissed for the first time. The same hotel they fought at, decided they were done with each other.  
He doesn’t notice the tears until the spot on his pillow is wet enough to catch his attention.  
The first solution in his mind is alcohol, but no. His mission was in only 2 hours - oh damn, only 2 hours - and sobriety is a must for his job. Owen wouldn’t want him to solve it that way, either. But who cares about Owen? Who cares what a stupid, heartless, douche like him thinks?  
According to the tear stains on the pillow and his face, Curt does.  
So the American sits up and looks around the old hotel room, searching for a healthy way to cope or at least take the Brit off his mind. There’s a radio next to the bed, two small potted plants, and a pen and paper on the nightstand. His eyes stop on the paper as a stupid and desperate thought enters his mind. What if… what if Curt wrote a letter? Just to at least get a confirmation about Owen’s feelings. Maybe get some peace of mind and know for good that Owen still hated him.  
It was a stupid idea, but the only one Curt had.  
So he grabbed the shitty hotel pen and shitty hotel paper, crossed his legs, and began to write.

It’s been a month since Curt wrote and sent the letter. 4 weeks. 30 days. 730 hours. 43800 minutes. He still hasn’t received a reply, which has only negatively affected his mood. ‘Maybe it got lost in the postal service’, he thinks. ‘Maybe he never even received it’. But deep down Curt knows the truth– Owen got the letter. He got the letter, read it, and threw it away without a second thought. But there’s still the possibility that…  
Curt stands abruptly, removing the thought from his mind. He got his response, the one he expected but didn’t want. Owen hates him. He hates him enough to not even bother responding to the letter. It hurts, yes, but hurt is a part of life. It’s time to move on.  
He grabs his jacket and throws it on over his casual gray shirt, running a hand through his usually styled hair before leaving his apartment and stepping outside. Maybe a walk and some coffee would help him straighten out his thoughts.  
The bell chimes when Curt enters the cafe, a wave of warm arm encasing him immediately. There aren’t many people, only three scattered throughout the room. Two men sit near each other, neither engaging with the other and seemingly strangers. The third is the only barista at the counter. She looks half asleep as she rebrews another pot of coffee, humming quietly to herself. When Curt walks up to the counter she turns, revealing her name tag. Emma. The lady looks at Curt expectantly, eyes half-closed and slowly blinking. “Caramel macchiato, please.” Curt smiles. Emma nods once, takes the money, and starts making the drink. Stepping to the side, Curt looks around. It’s a cozy place, a few vintage-looking photos here and there. Decorative light bulbs paint the room in an orange-tinted glow.  
After a few minutes, Emma hands Curt his drink and throws on a forced smile. It’s obvious she hates her job, selling shitty pastries and mediocre coffee. Curt likes his drink anyways, even if it isn’t as good as what Owen used to make.  
Shit. His brain was back on Owen.  
He takes another sip of the warm drink, heading towards the door. He needed to get Owen off his mind and focus on something else, like a new mission. It’d only been a few days since his last but he was already desperate for another. That’s what he could do: walk to the agency and ask about a new job. It would get him action, get him doing something that takes all of your concentration. Curt nods, deciding. He starts walking out, already wondering what Cynthia would give him when the door chimes again. Curt looks up at the new customer and freezes. Of course, it had to be him. Of course, he had to look amazing in that gray jacket. And of course, he had to notice Curt immediately.  
“Curt Mega,” Owen Carvour says in that damned accent with that damned smile. “Long time, no see. I didn’t expect to find you here, how are you?”


	2. Chapter 2

After Owen has his drink - a plain black coffee - the two sit across from each other in a booth near the corner, practically alone. Owen seems moderately relaxed, though Curt doesn’t understand how, though, because his brain is firing at 30 miles a minute.  
“How’ve you been?” Owen asks, cocking his head to the side in that way that makes Curt swoon. Hell, everything Owen does makes Curt swoon. He can’t help his attraction to him. “Fine.” He mutters into his coffee. Owen nods slowly a few times, leaning back into his chair and sipping his coffee. It’s silent between them for a few moments before Curt sighs and meets Owen’s eyes since they sat down. They haven’t changed since two years ago, which is strange to Curt. He knows that, logically, Owen’s eyes wouldn’t magically change color over time but he didn’t expect them to still be so… truthfully, he didn’t know what he had expected.  
“I thought you would have changed more,” Curt confesses. Owen raises an eyebrow, leaning forward onto his hand. “How so?”  
Shrugging, Curt leans back. “I dunno. I figured you would be… different? You’re exactly the same.”  
“People don’t just change drastically because of a fight, love.” If the name is an accident, Owen doesn’t show it. He still stays calm and collected, like a true spy. The thing he said Curt wasn’t in that hotel room.  
“Did you get my letter?” The American finally asks.  
Owen seems to think for a few seconds before humming. “I haven’t been back home in a while.” For some reason, this makes Curt’s heart sink. Maybe it’s the newfound discovery that Owen was not in fact here visiting Curt and that their meeting really was an accident. “Speaking of letters,” Owen says. “I believe I sent you one.”  
Curt picks his head up. “You did?”  
Owen hums a yes as he sips his coffee. “Pretty sure. Judging from your reaction, though, you didn’t receive it.”  
“I… no, I didn’t. I’m sorry, Owen.”  
Owen shrugs as if it didn’t mean anything to him. “Damn postal service, not you.” Curt nods softly, staring into his drink. He finally takes a shaky inhale and admits what’s been plaguing him all this time. “I think… I think I still love you, Owen.” It’s a whisper so quiet that Curt is worried Owen won’t hear him and he’ll have to repeat it; the last thing he wants to do.  
This admission finally gets a reaction from the usually collected man; his brows furrowing and taking a sharp inhale. “Curt, I–.”  
“No, no, it’s all right.” The American cuts him off, already regretting the admission. “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have said that. You don’t need to respond or anything if you don’t want to. We can just change the–.” Curt stops his rambling mid-sentence when Owen places his hand over the aforementioned, looking at him with those unchanging eyes. “I love you, too.” He says. Curt blinks, this being the last thing he expected. “But you never sent me anything, never called. I thought you hated me.”  
Owen laughs. “I thought you hated me, too. That’s why I never tried to contact you, figured you wouldn’t want to talk.”  
“I don’t think I can hate you.”  
The two smile softly at each other, both happy to finally have the two-year-heavy weight lifted off their chest. “Now that we have that out of the way–” Owen leans back into his chair– “Care to catch up with an old friend?”


End file.
